milliways_bar | (no subject)

[ timed to the day after this entrance ]

This bug gore is nasty.

A scraped and bruised deputy U.S. marshal has been scrubbing at his borrowed armor for the past hour, to little avail, in a booth along one wall.

He's determined to restore the suit to its previous condition before he turns it back over to Ellen, so he approaches the counter with grimy hands and a half-hopeful heart.

"Bar," he says, "there has got to be something that can get this stuff off."

A bottle, a fresh rag, and a clean bowl of water appear.

He lifts an eyebrow.

"Goo Gone?" He shifts his weight, still obviously favoring one side, thanks to yesterday's battle. "No shit?"

A napkin appears next to the bottle.

"I'm sorry. That was unbecoming."

A jar appears next, partially filled with an assortment of coins and bills from all ends of the multiverse.

"A swear jar," Raylan says, his voice flat. "Nice."

He doesn't push his luck too much, though, lest the Goo Gone disappear; he digs into his pocket, wincing at the pull of scraped skin along the back of his hand.

He deposits a smattering of loose change, and the jar winks out of existence, soon replaced by a steaming cup of coffee.

Raylan smiles, despite his split lower lip.

"Thank you."

[ ooc: open forever! or, y'know, till his next ep. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'd say you don't look worse for the wear, but - "

This voiced from the L.A. cop sitting down the bar, who eyes the armor with a tilt of her head and a corresponding quirk of her mouth.

" - I've never been a very good liar."

He glances up and over.

"At this moment," he says, one corner of his mouth turning up, "it wouldn't matter if you were the best liar in the world, Detective Reese. Saying I look like hell warmed over'd be generous."

"Well, I'm not trying to be unnecessarily cruel," she points out, curling one hand around her drink (coffee, lukewarm at this point) and sidling over.

"Adding insult to injury is the phrase that's coming to mind."

He nudges over the bowl of water another inch, giving her some extra space for her mug.

"And it's not even my birthday. Did I do something to earn this good favor of yours?"

"You mean, other than looking like you wound up on the wrong side of somebody's fist, for starters?" she replies, peering at the split in his lip.

"Maybe I'm just feeling nice."

"Oh, it was — "

He glances at the bloodied armor, and pulls a slight face.

"A little complicated. Alien bugs with big teeth and sharp claws."

A beat.

"Kind of like the Big Bad Wolf, now that I think about it."

"Alien bugs."

Beat.

"You shitting me?"

The jar reappears. Reese grimaces and reaches into the back pocket of her jeans.

"As much as I would like to say yes ... "

Raylan's eyes cut to the jar, and he stifles a chuckle.

"Nope."

He holds up one hand, and takes out his wallet with the other. A second later, he offers up a dollar bill; he doesn't mind taking the blame for that slip of the tongue.

She reaches over to to clasp his fingers, prying the bill loose as she turns his hand over in her grip, frowning at the cut.

"Well, as long as they didn't infect you with their alien claws."

It strikes her as ironic, ultimately, how she's taking this in stride.

He gives her fingers a brief, light squeeze.

"I had a tentanus shot not too far back."

She raises an eyebrow, gives him full use of his hand back.

"Tetanus covers aliens?"

"I really, really hope so."

"You and me both."

There's still a faint smile on her face as she takes in the sight of him.

"Sorry. Just trying to picture you with horns."

"Horns are better than open sores and a tail," he says, ever the diplomat.

"Now, how're you?"

"Decent."

She's not covered in goo, for starters.

"Better now."

He leans in a fraction, and lowers his voice.

"You are being nice."

"Who, me?"

She shakes her head, slow and even.

"Never."

"I see."

His eyes flick from her eyes to her mouth, and back again.

"I suppose I could be mistaken," he says, with a partial smirk. "But I'd like to think I'm not."

"Some could consider that as a little presumptuous."

Right now, she doesn't define herself as a one of those.

"Some."

"Now, now, only in this particular instance," he says, in a mild attempt to defend himself. "Let it be noted that wasn't a blanket statement."

"Good."

Now it's her turn to lean in, followed by a smirk of her own.

"Because I'm not always nice."

"But when you're good, you're very, very good."

A pause.

"That sounded a lot less lewd in my head, for the record. And considerably less creepy, even being a nursery rhyme."

"You're half-forgiven, marshal."

She glances into the contents of her mug, now cold, and nudges it aside.

"Half."

His eyes drop to her mug, and return to her face.

"I could make it up to you," he says, milking his eastern Kentucky drawl for anything it might be worth. "Get you another cup of coffee?"

"You could start with the coffee," she murmurs, raising an eyebrow.

We see what you did there, Raylan.

(no subject)

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